


the sound of cicadas and crickets

by Yersina



Series: different sides of the moon [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Family Reunions, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampire!Jisung, Vampires, Werewolves, ish, werewolf!minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: Minho tries not to smile as he watches Jisung out of the corner of his eye, head still turned toward his phone screen. Jisung is practically vibrating at the edge of his seat, staring with fascination through the window of the bus as the trees whip by. The setting sun paints pink and red and yellow streaks across the sky, and Minho gets to witness the very rare pleasure of Jisung bathed in the setting sunlight, cheek turned into the light like he’s soaking in the sensation.“Why does your family have to live so far outside the city,” Jisung complains, tipping over onto Minho’s shoulder and tucking his head under Minho’s chin.“It’s half an hour,” Minho says and doesn’t add that it’s not even fifteen minutes into the ride. “You’ll live.”
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: different sides of the moon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693879
Comments: 8
Kudos: 165
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One





	the sound of cicadas and crickets

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [minsung trope bingo](minsungbingo)! prompts: seasonal motifs, stars/constellations, supernatural au (free space)
> 
> the fics in this series are all the same 'verse but can stand alone!

Minho tries not to smile as he watches Jisung out of the corner of his eye, head still turned toward his phone screen. Jisung is practically vibrating at the edge of his seat, staring with fascination through the window of the bus as the trees whip by. The setting sun paints pink and red and yellow streaks across the sky, and Minho gets to witness the very rare pleasure of Jisung bathed in the lingering sunlight, cheek turned into the light like he’s soaking in the sensation. 

“Why does your family have to live so far outside the city,” Jisung complains, tipping over onto Minho’s shoulder and tucking his head under Minho’s chin. Minho reflexively turns his face into Jisung’s soft hair, nosing into the bleached strands. The smell of Jisung’s shampoo is a welcome reprieve from the stale air inside the bus and the undertone of gasoline that pervades all automobiles, made all the worse by the stifling summer heat that’s barely alleviated by the bus’s air conditioning.

“It’s half an hour,” Minho says and doesn’t add that it’s not even fifteen minutes into the ride. “You’ll live.”

“I’m already dead, and this bus ride killed me,” Jisung shoots back. The humor that’s dancing in Jisung’s eyes quickly dissolves into laughter when Minho registers the joke and swats Jisung on the shoulder. He wants to kiss the sound out of Jisung’s mouth, press his ear to Jisung’s chest and hear how his heartbeat matches his giggles, but there’s an old woman sitting across the aisle who’s giving them the side eye, so he settles instead for resting his cheek on top of Jisung’s head and rubbing his thumb over Jisung’s thigh reassuringly.

“Are you doing okay?” he asks quietly, hoping that Jisung catches the sincerity of the question.

Jisung doesn’t answer for a moment, catching Minho’s hand and turning it palm-up so that he can trace the lines lightly with a finger. “It’s not too bad,” Jisung says finally. “The smell of dog drowns everything else out.”

Minho snorts, but relaxes. “I hope you like it, ‘cause that’s all you’re going to be smelling for the next few days.” 

Jisung pulls away so Minho can see him do his best attempt at waggling his eyebrows. “I love the way you smell, baby—ack.” Minho doesn’t bother to listen to the rest of his words before shoving Jisung’s head away.

The rest of the bus ride passes in a blur of trees and jokes, and by the time they’re getting out of the bus at Gimpo, Minho’s surprised to note that the sun has already dipped below the horizon, making it dark enough that he nearly trips getting out of the bus. 

“Glad to see you’re as graceful as ever,” a deep voice pipes up gleefully once Minho regains his balance and Minho raises his head in surprise to find Felix already drawing him into a hug, warm and comforting in a way that Minho hadn’t realized he’d missed so much until he relaxes bonelessly into Felix’s arms. 

There’s something intrinsically reassuring about being near a packmate, especially one that he’s known as long as Felix, and Minho relishes it for all it’s worth. He picks up the deep savory note of gochujang and crisp scent of peppers off Felix’s shirt and he draws back so he can grin at Felix. “Has Mom already started cooking?”

Felix scoffs, returning the grin. “‘Already started cooking’—she’s been in the kitchen since this morning. She even roped your dad into grilling meat outside. She wants to make this into a proper celebration, now that her wayward son has come home.”

Minho rolls his eyes, the embarrassed heat in his ears and touched warmth in his chest warring with each other. “She didn’t have to do that. And I live literally less than an hour away,” he stresses. _Some_ people seemed to think Seoul was on the other side of the country. 

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” Felix laughs. “The rest of my family is there too, and Jeongin‘s popping by with his brothers later.”

“Can my house even fit that many people?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Felix says, thumping Minho on the back. “Ready to go? Got your bags?”

“Oh—” Minho abruptly remembers the existence of his bags and whips around, only to find Jisung already standing there with one in each hand, expression slightly lost like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. “Felix—”

“You must be Jisung,” Felix interrupts before Minho can do introductions. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Jisung hastily bows, the movement stiff with awkwardness. “Sorry, I don’t know—”

“I’m Felix,” Felix explains brightly, bowing back. “Here, let me take your bags.”

Minho tries not to laugh as Jisung stands there helplessly as the whirlwind that is Felix plucks their bags out of his grip and piles them into the trunk of his car, instead taking Jisung’s hand and giving it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Felix’s family moved from Australia into the house next to ours when I was around ten and joined our pack, so Felix is basically my brother,” he explains, herding Jisung into the backseat of Felix’s tiny car. “He’s a lyricist,” he adds, which makes Jisung perk up immediately.

“You do music?” he asks curiously as Felix slides into the driver’s seat and starts up the car, which sparks a conversation that lasts the entirety of the twenty minute drive from the bus stop to Minho’s house, a mishmash of Korean and English and music jargon that Minho only understands half of. By the time they make it to the stoop of Minho’s house, Jisung has somehow managed to wrangle a promise from Felix to record a song or two and Felix has a new audience member for his most recent dance choreography. 

Before Minho can knock on the door, it’s already being pulled open and Minho feels something in his chest unwind at the smiling face of his mother. He can hear his dad bustling around on their deck, the sizzling of meat as it cooks, the curious meowing coming from the living room as his cats wonder what all the fuss is about, and it still all feels so familiar to him even after months away from home. “I’m home,” he murmurs as his mom pulls him into her arms, breathing in the nostalgic smell of garlic and cooking oil and meat. He laughs a little when he picks up a hint of Febreze buried beneath all the smells of dinner. 

“Welcome home,” his mom whispers back.

* * *

After dinner, Minho pulls Jisung out into their backyard when Felix’s parents shoo them out of the kitchen, insisting that children are still children and that they refused to allow Minho’s parents to wash the dishes since they cooked all the food. Felix settles in the living room with Jeongin to play video games on their TV, and shoots Minho a wink when he sees Minho pulling Jisung towards the door.

A summer breeze, combined with the cooler night air, keeps the temperature perfectly warm and being in the countryside means that it lacks the chemical aftertaste the air in the city constantly carries. Minho takes a deep breath, straining his senses to pick up his mom’s herb garden on the front lawn, the berries starting to ripen on the bushes in the forest behind his house, the cut grass of Felix’s family’s lawn. They’re all scant hints that barely tickle his nose, but it still feels good to push himself. 

Jisung flops onto the grass without waiting for an invitation, stretching out his legs and tipping his head up at the night sky, and barely a moment later, Minho joins him. A few moments pass in silence, and Minho just listens to the wind rustling the leaves, the crickets chirping quietly, and the blanket of cicadas screeching in the trees. He misses this, prefers it to the hurried rush of the city, the constant honking and shouting that never rests, the strange smells and sights and experiences that he’s still getting used to, but when Jisung shifts to his right, getting more comfortable on the cool grass, he’s reminded of the life he’s made for himself in the city, the new path that he’s carved for himself out of sheer stubbornness and determination.

“Jeongin is human,” Jisung finally says, eyes still trained on the glittering blanket of stars. “His blood smells like magic.” It’s not quite a question, but Minho feels compelled to answer it anyway.

“His mom’s a witch—their family runs the local occult shop.” Minho associates Jeongin with the smell of burnt sage and wax, with herbs and fire, which screams ‘magic’ as much as whatever it is that Jisung smells in his blood. “It’s a bit of a tourist attraction, but they’ve always been truthful to the people who need it.” 

Jisung hums in reply. “Last time I met a witch was 1992 in the Philippines.” There’s a trace of wistfulness in Jisung’s voice that makes Minho’s chest twist uncomfortably, but he’s not sure why. “She and her husband sold street food for a living, but she had a side business selling little dolls that she swore could cure illnesses.” 

Minho flounders for a reply. Jisung doesn’t usually talk about his past with this kind of dreamy seriousness. “She sounds nice.”

Jisung barks out a laugh at that, finally turning to face Minho. “I’d only lived in that town for a month before she figured out what I was and promptly tried to exorcise me. Haven’t been back to the Philippines since.”

“Oh.” Minho is at more of a loss for words now than he was a minute ago. “Never mind, she doesn’t sound nice.”

Jisung laughs again and bops Minho on the nose, giggling when he goes cross-eyed to look at Jisung’s finger. “I only asked ‘cause Jeongin has potential. His blood smells like magic because he _is_ magic.”

“How does that work?” Minho asks curiously. “What makes blood smell like magic? What does magic smell like?” The plants that Jeongin and his mother work with, the acrid fragrance of incense and the flat earthen smell of crystals have always meant magic and mystery to Minho, but he doubts that’s something that embeds itself in a person’s blood. 

“Trust the werewolf to get caught up on smells,” Jisung teases. He shifts in the grass again, pressing himself closer to Minho’s side and leaning onto his shoulder. “Magic in general smells like... like ozone, I guess. Magic is basically raw energy anyway, so the smell kind of reminds me of lightning on metal.” Minho supposes that makes sense, though he’s never smelled anything like a thunderstorm coming off of Jeongin or any of his family members. “And magic usually isn’t so much in the blood as on the person—that’s why anyone can do magic.” This is news to Minho but Jisung barrels on before Minho can think to ask about it. “But witches have a bit more of a spark than most people do, and it makes their blood smell...” Jisung trails off in favor of ghosting his nose over the column of Minho’s throat, sending a shiver down his spine. “Well, better than werewolves, that’s for sure.”

“That’s a non-answer,” Minho protests weakly, fighting the way his eyes want to slip shut at Jisung’s touch. “You think everything smells better than werewolves.”

“That’s ‘cause werewolves smell awful,” Jisung says, pulling back to grinning at Minho cheekily. 

Minho shoves Jisung down onto the grass with a groan of exasperation. “Stop telling me that I smell bad.”

“But it’s true!” Jisung crows through his cackles, jabbing his finger into Minho’s side repeatedly until he’s collapsed on the ground next to Jisung, muffling his giggles into the sleeve of Jisung’s t-shirt. “I could air out the bathroom for a week and it still wouldn’t get rid of the smell of dog.”

 _“You’re_ the one dating me,” Minho replies longsufferingly, because the bathroom is always Jisung’s favorite point of attack. 

Jisung shrugs. “I must be a dog person, then,” he says nonchalantly and laughs at the look of disgust on Minho’s face. “I’ve always found it bizarre that you have no siblings and three cats. Weirdest werewolf I’ve ever met.” Fondness leaks into Jisung’s tone, affection painted clearly on his face, and Minho feels an answering smile pull at his lips.

“Says the vampire dating a werewolf.”

“We’re just a couple of weirdos,” Jisung agrees. He pushes up onto an elbow so he can sprawl halfway onto Minho’s chest, his dark eyes glittering with the light of the house behind them. “Weirdo soulmates,” he amends cheerfully, before pecking Minho on the lips.

Minho gets a hand on the back of his head before he can pull away, drawing Jisung into a deeper kiss like he’s wanted to since he saw Jisung standing with a shy smile in the doorway of his childhood home. He breathes in the smell of Jisung mixed with the countryside in the summer, toothpaste and shampoo and grass and dirt all mixed together until Minho is dizzy with it all, the familiar and unfamiliar colliding until he’s lost in the feeling of Jisung’s lips on his. 

Eventually, Jisung breaks away when Minho is starting to feel lightheaded, dark eyes wide in the darkness. “I might not have to breathe, but you do,” he says with a breathless chuckle, rolling off of Minho but twining their fingers together instead.

“Worst part of being alive,” Minho says to the night sky, just to hear Jisung’s peal of laughter.

Minho traces the constellations with his eyes while they lie there in comfortable silence. He’s never been the best at it, and sure enough, he only manages to find what he thinks might be Ursa Major, but the soft blanket of stars is beautiful even without his spotty grade school knowledge of its patterns.

There’s something about stars that have always managed to make him feel small and insignificant, a tiny speck in the time and space of the cosmos. It’s simultaneously humbling and terrifying, and he switches between the two until he has to close his eyes with the weight of it, the sky above him and Jisung beside him and surrounded by everything much more than he will ever be. 

“Hey.” Minho opens his eyes to Jisung’s face above him again, something unfathomably quiet and solemn hidden in the depths of his eyes. “I love you.”

Those three short words are infinitely heavy in Minho’s ears, the way that Jupiter is simultaneously a tiny, bright fleck in the sky and an incomprehensibly large gas giant far, far away in the solar system. It makes Minho want to run away until he doesn’t have to deal with the confusion anymore, it makes him want to clutch it tight and never let it go, and he settles for leaning up to knock his forehead against Jisung’s, pressed close enough that their noses touch and he can feel the ghost of Jisung’s breath on his lips.

“I love you too,” he says back, and even if Jisung can’t feel the heft of it when it leaves Minho’s throat, it carries the promise that the Earth makes the sun when it circles tirelessly year after year, the endless chasing of the tides when they heed the call of the moon. 

Jisung smiles a smile that reminds Minho of pale starlight and presses himself against Minho until his chin is propped over Minho’s shoulder and his limbs are tucked into the nooks and crannies of Minho’s own. They stay like that for countless minutes with just the sound of cicadas and crickets to keep them company, bathed in moonlight and starlight and the summer heat, until Minho’s mom calls them inside again. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


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